


Problem Solving

by armchairpsychologist



Category: Original Work
Genre: Bluetooth brain-chip, Cyberpunk, Futuristic coding, Microsoft Paperclip, editing is The Worst, the future is coming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-08
Updated: 2020-12-08
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:07:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27960488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/armchairpsychologist/pseuds/armchairpsychologist
Summary: In the future, one office worker uses a creative solution to meeting a deadline.
Kudos: 2





	Problem Solving

**Author's Note:**

> Ever been so fed up of editing that you would literally rather do anything else?

When I was at school, a teacher told me that the only difference between success and failure is your mind-set. Winners never quit. Quitters never win.  
  
Children will believe anything.   
  
I remove my glasses and rub my eyelids again, feeling the sting of dry eyes well past saving at this stage.  
  
I'm two hours away from my deadline and my mind has started playing tricks.  
  
The screen glares defiantly back.

The model just doesn't want to converge. I've tried everything. Checked every line of code.  
  
<productivity has dropped 69.89% since this task began>  
  
A cheerful ping announces the warning popping up at the top of my screen.  
  
My gut churns as I see the holo-projector in the centre of the room flicker, automatically dropping the team average productivity for today. Everyone has a different colour based on their input, and my name is flashing dark orange at the bottom of the leaderboard. Not quite red yet. Several people tut under their breath and I can almost feel the daggers levelled at my back.  
  
I try to refocus, but all I can think about now is my lack of productivity.  
  
<productivity has dropped 70.00% since this task began>  
  
Another round of louder tuts accompanies this, including an angry exhale from Tariq, who I hear only because he sits nearest me.  
  
I swallow. The group bonus is dwindling. I'm going to be very unpopular.  
  
My desktop avatar manifests onscreen, folding itself into a paperclip with googly eyes. I chose it when I first started at the firm. I thought it was cool and retro (ironic) at the time.  
  
<critical productivity level detected>  
  
Even my avatar was giving me grief.  
  
"Yeah no fucking shit," I growl at it; the only safe target in the room.  
  
<would you like to reformulate your task?>   
  
I knew this was coming. The avatar's googly eyes blink at me.  
  
<please select: yes/no>  
  
I also know what's expected.  
  
I press Y on my keyboard.  
  
<task reformulation selected. Please activate pairing mode.> The paperclip swirls into a flurry of loops.  
  
I lean back in my chair and reach up behind my right ear, my fingers finding the flat chip embedded there. I align my index finger firmly against it, waiting for it to grow warm. I imagine the chip glowing neon blue as it reads my fingerprint and checks for life signs.  
  
<pairing...> My avatar swirls faster.  
  
I feel the heat fade from my finger and there's a crack inside my inner ear as though the air pressure has changed.  
  
"Pairing successful." says a voice inside my ear; one only I can hear. I see the HUD of my monitor around the edges of my vision, moving with me as my head turns. The avatar reappears next to my hand. "ID confirmed." It chirps and bounces cheerfully. "Reformulating task."  
  
I brace myself. My vision darkens for a second, then brightens. I can taste copper on the back of my tongue. My desk, the computer screen and the surrounding office is still visible. But my mind, or maybe I should say, my imagination can see something else.  
  
The code I've been working on streams before my eyes, shifting and rotating in thin air. Each line falls into place, spiralling and becoming something else. Wings unfurl outwards and a neck shakes itself free, followed by a long tail. A mouth filled with the sharpest ones and zeros I've ever seen, gapes open. The dragon towers above me and shakes its horned head. It screams. The sound is garbled and digitized; sheet metal tormented by a drill. Unmistakable in its unadulterated aggression.   
  
I try not to focus on the background office.  
  
"Task reformulation complete." The avatar announces, almost sounding pleased with itself.  
  
The shimmering lines of code pulse through the dragon's body in lines, the core programming concentrated around its heart. The construct lunges forward, terrifying fangs snapping at my face and I instinctively duck, narrowly missing braining myself on the computer monitor.   
  
I imagine my score slipping further down the leaderboard into the red.  
  
"Run debug mode," I tell my avatar, keeping a wary eye on the serpentine neck weaving back and forth before me. It almost feels like the construct is sizing me up.  
  
"Running debug mode."  
  
My eyes water and suddenly different sections of the code light up. For the most part, the teeth, head and neck appear a healthy green, as evidenced by the construct's attempts at eating my face. The dragon's limbs (including its impressive wings) are slightly more yellow than green, but the HUD tells me it's within acceptable parameters. A closer scan flags up something: hidden beneath the musculature of the dragon's chest, it's core programming pulses, the light a faint and sickly red. The dragon utters another spine chilling shriek, this time sounding like a warning. Wings flare as it swoops forward: I don't quite dodge quickly enough. I taste copper again and wipe away a trail of warm blood from my nose.   
  
"Productivity has dropped to 85% sinc-" the paperclip chimes. I just hold back a particularly explicit insult. 

“Yes thank you-isolate the highlighted section," I tell my avatar instead and it swirls furiously, processing the command.  
  
"Code isolated."  
  
The dragon freezes in place, mid-strike, as a slow beating heart of code materialises in my palm.  
  
I hold the organ up, squinting as I rotate it.  
  
"Run toolkit."  
  
There’s a ping and wooden board of instruments, each one a virtual representation, appears next to me.  
  
I pick up the scalpel. Beneath my fingers, I imagine the heart pulses slightly more quickly in response.   
  
I cut. I stitch. The boundaries between my worlds blur as time falls away. I can't tell if the blood on my hands is mine or the dragon's.  
  
Finally, the heart turns green and gives a shuddering thump. I wipe the back of my wrist against my forehead.  
  
"Re-insert code and run in safe mode."  
  
The heart disappears with a ping and the dragon suddenly reanimates, shaking its head. It's wings fold back and the mouth closes, looking far less terrifying. The dragon sinks to all fours and slowly curls up like a content feline. The lines of code glow a healthy green.  
  
"Productivity has risen by 85% since this task began," the paperclip proudly announces. "Do you want to continue? Please select yes/no."  
  
"No," I say, rubbing a knuckle into my aching closed eyelid. I can taste copper. "Save task progress and end pairing."  
  
"Saving."  
  
I feel my hearing pop and open my eyes to see my normal work space. The monitor shows the fixed stream of code, my avatar bouncing cheerfully in the corner.   
  
<pairing terminated.>  
  
I breathe a sigh of relief and glance around the quiet office: almost everyone has left. Only Tariq is still packing up his bag.  
  
I reach for my glasses, anxiously scanning the leaderboad: my name is safely in the yellow.  
  
"Yes!"   
  
I smile at Tariq, holding up my hand up for a high five on a job well-recovered.  
  
He just looks at me; blood crusting my nostrils as I sway in exhaustion.  
  
"Why can't you do a fucking Rubik's Cube like the rest of us?" 


End file.
